not planning to tell him about you,” Juliet interrupted. “But right now, his life isn’t happy or blessed at all, and if I can help him, if I can win him his freedom, then I’ve sort of paid him back. Do you see that?”
Mary Jane’s nose crinkled. She ground her chin against her knee. Marcie reached over, ran her fingers through Mary Jane’s curls. “You don’t have anything to be afraid of, sweetie.”
Mary Jane raised her head. “Kind of like a life for a life?” she asked Juliet, her tone a little less defensive.
“Kind of.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“You promise you won’t tell him about me?”
“Not without telling you first.”
Mary Jane didn’t look satisfied, but after staring intently for a long moment, she didn’t argue the point any further.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MARCIE STARTED loading empty sandwich wrappers into the canvas bag they’d brought with them. Mary Jane continued to sit, now hugging both knees.
Thinking about the man who was her father?
“Is there anything you’d like to know about him?” Juliet asked, just in case.
Did the child ever wonder what kind of person Blake was? Whether he was smart? Or liked dogs?
“So you’re sure he didn’t do it?”
Leave it up to Mary Jane to find the most difficult question. “I don’t know, sweetie, but I don’t think so.”
The little girl nodded. “I don’t think so, either.”
She leaned over to the edge of the blanket, opened her hand and dropped the cookie she’d been holding. With a quick brush of her hand, she jumped up.
“Can I go look for shells now?”
Feeling there was more she should say, Juliet just nodded. And Mary Jane ran off.
“That went surprisingly well,” Marcie said, lying back on the blanket and closing her eyes.
Outwardly, Juliet agreed with her sister. But as she watched her daughter strolling listlessly by the water, her heart told her differently. This wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.
ON MONDAY, Blake went to the pound and picked out a puppy. A Labrador-greyhound mix—pitch-black with a long nose, pointed ears that stood upright and looked too large for its small head and a skinny tail that hung down almost to the floor. He’d toyed with the idea all weekend. It was a positive move, manifesting his belief that he’d be free to raise the pup. He’d accepted the January speaking engagement, too.
Buying a puppy was something he’d often thought about since returning to San Diego—he liked the idea of having something to come home to at the end of a long day. Or to spend time with on weekends that sometimes stretched too long.
But he couldn’t quite escape a twinge of guilt at the thought of taking the pup home, making them a family, only to have to abandon the little guy to someone else three months later—three months older, three months less adaptable—as his master went to prison.
Still, getting up Tuesday morning after an almost sleepless night, Blake felt better than he had in weeks.
“Freedom, my boy, you win,” he told the whining pup as he let him out of the crate he’d purchased the day before. “Tonight you sleep on the bed, so we can both sleep.”
Freedom yawned, shook himself, wagged his tail and peed all over Blake’s shoe.
JULIET CALLED early Tuesday afternoon. He thought about telling her about the pup, or the series of gifts taking up every bit of available space in his office, but she was all business.
“I’ve heard from Paul Schuster,” she told him, her tone without inflection—not welcome, doom or even boredom. “When would be a convenient time for us to meet?”
He offered to come to her office immediately. She preferred to come to his. Blake didn’t argue.
“SCHUSTER’S OFFERED a plea agreement.”
She’d only just arrived, barely taken time to give him a somewhat unfocused smile of hello, before she’d taken the seat he’d indicated on the couch and opened her satchel.
Blake had been about to offer her something to drink. Instead he sat down. Hard.
“Meaning?”
She met his gaze for the first time since she’d arrived. “He’s offered to lessen the charge to two counts of fraud.”
Her suit was navy today, with a slim knee-length skirt, white blouse and short tailored jacket.
“If I plead guilty?” he asked. Blake had been doing a lot of reading on a subject of which he’d been completely ignorant. The details of criminal proceedings had just never interested him.
Juliet nodded.
Slow down, he admonished himself when he might have bitten out an instant refusal. He had to take this calmly. One step at a time. Detaching from emotion so that he could think.
“Why would he be willing to do that?” Because he wasn’t so sure he could make the original charges stick? Then why press them in the first place? Unless something had happened between last week and this.
“Two reasons,” Juliet said, leaning forward as she explained, her voice softening to the tone he’d grown to expect from her. “First, it’s palatable to the prosecutor because it puts the onus on the judge. Second, it’s easier—and less time-consuming—than going to trial.”
“I hadn’t read Paul Schuster as a man who takes the easy way out.” Blake still wanted to believe that something had happened to make the prosecutor less confident that he could win.
Juliet smiled, almost as though she knew what he was thinking. “It’s not the easy way out. He’s spent a lot of time on this case, he thinks he’s got his man, and now he’s ready to move on to get the next one.”
“He’s bored,” Blake translated.
“I wouldn’t put it that way, but you’re a first offender, Blake, and to Schuster, this isn’t nearly as big as Eaton’s alleged fake companies. He knows, no matter how good a case he builds, you aren’t going to get a maximum sentence anyway.”
If you stand straight, do not fear a crooked shadow.
Blake read the Chinese proverb. He’d hung the plaque by the door to his office so he saw it every time he glanced up from his desk—and again every time he left his domain.
“What happens if we accept the agreement?” He wasn’t going to. He couldn’t. Because to do that would be a lie. He wasn’t guilty.
